“A father loves completely, gives quietly, teaches gently and inspires deeply”.
Though not consumed by it at all, this week my thoughts have been infiltrated by quiet reminders about my dad. His birthday is Oct. 15, he would have been 105. He died in 2012 after living a pretty amazing life, taken down for the last 3 years by the horrible effects of Alzheimer’s Disease, an illness I wish on no one. This disease robs people of dignity, purpose, awareness of day to day life complete with daily routines or occasions to celebrate family experiences. Mainly, being in the midst of the disease’s throes steals precious memories and ability to communicate. As much as it deeply saddened me and my family to see our dad and grandfather live in anguish, the disease didn’t define his life. It was merely the closing chapter of his life’s book, with less words written to describe that time as compared to almost 90 years of a life that thrived.
Did my father love completely? I don’t have enough space or words to fully answer that question. In simple terms, yes. “Family is everything” was one of his last formed phrases after moving into assisted living care. Conservations during those three years slowly declined in substance. Searching for the right word became a common struggle, yet those three words often summed up every visit with him.
Quiet and gentle? Those are two very good adjectives for dad. I don’t remember a raised voice or harsh word spoken to any of us kids. Discipline came with reasonable conversations, direct instructions, sometimes with just enough sarcasm to accompany a serious facial expression to drive home his point. Physical punishment didn’t exist in our childhood years. Maybe it was because my grandfather had taken liberty with spankings that left emotional scars and a decision to “do differently” with us kids.
Did my dad teach gently and inspire deeply? I smile remembering how many times my brother Mark’s bike lay in pieces on the driveway. For some reason, Mark enjoyed taking things apart, learning how to reassemble. Dad’s only complaint was that too many times missing tools from his workbench interfered with completing his own projects. Mark was the one who dad took along on home improvement projects he did as side jobs to earn extra income for our family. Mark had the aptitude and interest in learning how to measure, plan, and build which came in handy when he built his own home years ago. Not surprisingly, dad was there to help, still able to climb a ladder and yield a hammer well into his late 60s at the time. Brother Dave didn’t get the gift of craftsmanship by any means. What he lacked in that department was made up with an appetite to read books, retain the knowledge he gained and hold conversations with anyone he met. He was a natural athlete even though he never played an organized sport. His physical strength came in handy to carry building materials. Dave was more comfortable with a book on his lap instead of a hammer in his hand.
Inspiration from dad was given mostly from example versus verbal encouragement or commentary. We knew how to love because we witnessed firsthand how he embraced family, his own as well as in-law members. Acceptance of each one seems to have come easily to him. I like to think it’s because he had seen how his parents lovingly accepted a variety of 11 sons and daughters in law as each child married.
Dad took our family to church, too. Growing up as a kid on a farm, it was his mother who took responsibility to get the children to church. When attending in person wasn’t possible, “church” was held in the living room. She was the family’s spiritual leader for many years. My mother was raised going to church since birth and her relationship with Christ was foremost in her life. Dad joined her church after they married and that’s the one we attended until I left home. He became a trusted quiet leader in the congregation, yet I can recall times he spoke his mind at board meetings, never to condemn someone’s opinions, rather to shed common sense biblical truth on matters of discussion.
So, as I think about his birthday rolling around again, I can’t help but smile. I am deeply grateful for his life and the role he embraced in my own life teaching, encouraging, correcting, leading by example from a spirit of wonderful love.
“Family is everything”. I’d love to hear him say those three words one more time. That last time he spoke to me he was struggling. He had taken hold of my hands and looked at me with great intention as he wanted to express “something”, trying to push aside the clouds of dementia swarming in his mind. At that moment, I didn’t need a long flowing narrative about whatever was anchoring his thoughts. Those three words spoke everything I needed to hear…love and gentle quietness in an aged mind, surrounded by circumstances and precious memories that spanned a life worth living.
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According to census.gov the number of children living in fatherless homes has doubled in the last 50 years. That statistic is heartbreaking. It’s also a reflection that “something” has become broken in our family relationships. Whatever the reasons for this outcome, I pray that our children will become a priority to fathers everywhere.
